'I'm grieved t' have to tell ye, Miss Kitty, but Ned's no more.'
Her face whitened in shock. 'H-how did it happen? Fever? But he was always so strong, Ned . . .'
'It was a tumble fr'm a yardarm at night.' There was no need to go into details; the utter darkness, everything done by feel up in the surging rigging, the hand going out and clutching a false hold and a lurch into nothing until the shock of the sea. Then, seeing the ship's lights fade into the night and the lonely horror of realising that, no matter how hard the struggle, the end must surely come — minutes or long hours.
'Wh-when?'
'Jus' two nights afore we made soundings,' he said. No more than a week or so ago, Ned Malkin could be seen on the mess-deck enjoying his grog and a laugh, spinning a yarn on deck on a night watch . . .
For a long while she stared at him, then her face sagged. She glanced just once at the picture on the wall. 'Thank you f'r coming, sir — many wouldn't,' she said, in a small voice.
The moment hung, stretching out in a tense silence that seemed to go on for ever. Faint sounds penetrated from the outside. Kydd cleared his throat, and made to rise. 'Ah, must return on board,' he muttered.
She rose as well, but came between him and the door. 'Can I offer you refreshment, er, some tea?' There was pleading in her eyes, and Kydd knew he couldn't leave her to her grief just then.
'Oh, a dish o' tea would be mos' welcome, Miss Kitty.'
She didn't move, however. Her white face was fixed on his. 'Since Mama died, m' father went back t' Bristol to work for his brother.' He wondered why she was telling him. 'An' here I work in the dockyard — I sew y'r flags 'n' bunting, y' see. I like it, being near th' ships and sea — to see Ned sail away t' his adventures . ..' Her eyes suddenly brimmed, then the tears came, hot and choking, tearing at Kydd's composure.
He stood, but found himself reaching for her, pulling her close, patting her and murmuring meaningless phrases; he understood now the single place at table. She was on her own — and asking for human comfort.
Night had fallen, and Kydd could see lights on other vessels through the curtained gunport. Her arm was still over his chest as they lay precariously together on the small bedstead. Kitty's fine blonde hair tumbled over his shoulder; her female form discernible under the coverlet.
She murmured something indistinct, turning to Kydd and reaching for him. He responded gendy, wondering at the dream-like transition from comforting to caring, to intimacies of the heart and then the body.
So instinctive had it been that there was no need for modesty as she rose, pulling her gown around her and trimming the small light. She turned to face him. 'I'd take it kindly, Thomas, if you'd tell me more about Ned an' Achilles? she said.
'A moment, Kitty, if y' please.' Kydd swung out, retrieving his shirt and trousers, needing their dignity. Achilles is a ship-of-the-line—'
'A sixty-four.'
'But not a big 'un, so we gets to see parts o' the world the fleets never do.'
'Ned says . .. said, that Achilles was bigger 'n' any frigate, could take on anything that swims outside th' thumpers in a fleet.'
'That's in the right of it, but it means we get more convoy duty than any, 'cos o' that.' He stopped. 'Er, Kitty, d'ye think y' could get some scran alongside?' he asked sheepishly. He had not eaten since the morning.
'O' course, m' dear,' she said brightly, then paused. 'As long as ye're back aboard b' daybreak, you'll be safe 'n' snug here.' There was only the slightest inflection of a question.
'Aye, that I will, thank ye.'
When Kydd went aboard Achilles the next morning it was drizzling with a cutting north-easter. Liberty for all had been granted the previous evening so there was no
need to explain his absence, although Binney regarded him quizzically as he reported.
